


Standby

by Starkspectacular



Series: Theoretically Impossible [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Best Friends, Biocomponents (Detroit: Become Human), Boredom, Coffee, Crime, Damaged Biocomponents (Detroit: Become Human), Father Figures, Frottage, Heavy Drinking, LED emotions, M/M, Oral Sex, Sleep Paralysis, Slow Burn, Smoking, Tattoos, Trans Male Character, routines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkspectacular/pseuds/Starkspectacular
Summary: Taylor Pham has been missing since Thursday the 3rd of October, and nobody has noticed apart from her Philosophical studies professor at college. Connor, bored with his current case and lack of progress, decides to take it up and see if he can find the missing girl. Unknowingly, this decisions may be the best and the worst he'd ever made.Hank hates the case, but Connor has a point. The red ice case they'd been on for months hadn't picked up, and they needed something fresh. Who'd have thought it would lead to him meeting an accomplished tattoo artist with a thing for men in uniform.





	1. Bored

_Flick._

_Flick._

_Flick._

 

The silver coin flew through the air, its sharp ring cutting out as soon as it touched synthetic skin.

 

_Flick._

 

Flick.

 

Flick.

 

The light from the street lamps outside reflects off of the coin, sending little rays of light scattering across the poorly lit room. He had no need for artificial lighting, not when he was alone.

 

_Flick._

_Flick._

_Stop._

 

The coin halted in his palm, tossed over between his fingers four times over, and eventually retreated back to his pocket.

 

In the small apartment on the west side of Detroit, Connor sat on his couch with his hands on his knees. A glance at his internal clock told him it was 3AM, to which he gave a very human sounding sigh. Three and a half more hours until it was acceptable to leave for the precinct. In the time since he’d come home, he’d cleaned the surfaces, vacuumed, and washed one of three suits he owned. He’d scoured online for resources on a current Red Ice investigation and came up with nothing. Since being banned from remotely accessing his terminal from home, Connor had no choice but to sit… and wait to go back to work.

 

**3.06AM**

 

Connor thought about a reference Hank had made today. Something about walking the green mile to work. His LED flashed yellow momentarily, before rolling back to its usual cool blue. In less than three minutes he’d read the synopsis of Stephen King’s The Green Mile, read seventeen in-depth online reviews on the film, and filed it away in case Hank made the reference again. He understood now, and it had taken him less than five minutes to do so. Only three hours, 51 minutes to go.

 

Connor checked his upgrades and software installations for the twenty-eighth time that night and found himself reaching for his coin again. The coin was all he had to occupy himself. It was to sharpen his reflexes, he told himself, but in reality, he knew exactly why he did it. It was something to focus on. Something to do. He needed engaging, and he needed stimulants. Connor was bored.

 

_Flick._

 

Flick.

 

Flick.

 

His routine was complex but easily remembered. He didn’t quite understand why Hank had so much trouble attempting it, though he supposed it was because he’d been inebriated the only time he ever tried. Maybe Connor could teach him. Making an internal note, Connor continued with the coin. It flicked and dinged, ringing out a little sound whenever it flew through the air. It staved off boredom for a while, just enough to reach 6AM when he knew he could leave his apartment and begin a walk through Detroit to the precinct.

 

He had his timing down perfectly.

 

By 6AM he was out of the door, locking it with the key fob against the scanner. Because he didn’t have a palm print it didn’t work with his hand, so the fob was all he had. At 6.02 he was outside, and the sun was coming up and the wind was brisk. He could see that it was cold outside; he knew it was around 43 degrees and really all humans should be wearing coats. Connor walked in nothing but his altered suit. While they shuffled in down jackets and huge scarves.

 

He would have happily kept his original suit jacket, but since the rising Hank had forced him to get a new one. It was essentially the same, the differences being that it had no armband and didn’t betray that he was an android. There was no serial number or place of origin on the back, no flashing android sign to let humans know what he was. The one thing that did that was the bright LED on his temple.

 

People walking by gave him odd looks, but he paid no attention. He’d grown used to stares, and as Hank kept telling him it was none of his business. They breathed steam with the changes of temperature from the body to outside. Connor couldn’t do that, he had no internal heat. He had no issues with the cold, no sense of touch and no sense of cold or warm. It was what it was.

 

At 6.57AM Connor arrived at a coffee shop. There was a young looking android behind the till; his uniform pristine as his human co-workers was dirty. Connor watched as the android poured coffee methodically. This must have been his primary function before the rising, he did it so elegantly. Still watching him, Connor noticed something strange. The android glanced at his human colleague and back to his own attire. He put his hand under the steamer to wet it, and then touched the countertop. Connor’s LED cycled amber.

 

The android, with his hand now dirty, wiping the front of his apron to clean it and went back about his work without comment. Connor didn’t understand, the android had done that purposefully; there was no benefit to being dirty in a place like this. In fact, it may end up bringing down the hygiene standards of the shop. Replaying the motion in his head, Connor came to the front of the queue and blinked as the human colleague spoke. She was chewing gum obnoxiously.

 

“What are you having?” She asked, and Connor asked for a strong black coffee to go. He paid remotely and left, the interaction playing over and over in his mind.

 

At 7AM he arrived at the precinct, half an hour early and prepared to start working. He passed the officers who were hurriedly leaving after their night shifts and greeted the receptionists warmly. Once at the desks, he put the coffee down on Hank’s terminal and threw away yesterdays empty cup into a bin full of them. Routine done, Connor sat down at his terminal to wait for Hank to arrive, LED still cycling yellow. He sat quietly, struggling to understand the meaning of the coffee smudge on the androids apron.


	2. Coffee

**7.58AM**

 

Hank’s phone lit up and stayed lit up. It buzzed; moving across his nightstand like it was trying to crawl to his body to wake him up. Hank groaned, sat up, and held his hand over his eyes. Sunlight was blaring through his blinds, obviously because he’d forgotten to close them the night before. To his left, he saw Sumo taking up 90% of the bed, and found out why his leg felt dead. Sumo was on top of it.

 

Grunting, Hank shifted so he could at least free his trapped leg. His phone was still going off, so he smacked it blindly until it stopped ringing. Whoever it was could wait, he needed a shower.

 

Rolling out of bed, Hank limped to the shower with his dead leg. Sumo had objected, but upon seeing Hank’s empty warm spot he’d shut up right away. The massive dog lounged across the entire bed easily, softly sighing as he settled back into whatever dream he was having before. Probably eating his own asshole.

 

In the bathroom, Hank ignored the post-it-notes on his mirror in favour of brushing his teeth while in the shower. It saved time and water so why not. Soap, shampoo, and a towel later, Hank was dry and ready to get dressed. He passed by the notes urging him to trim his beard and do his taxes and threw on a semi-clean shirt. It had flowers on it, some weird patterns and colours, but nobody would care. It’s not like he took his coat off anyway.

 

Hank threw on the rest of his clothes blindly. Odd socks, a pair of jeans, his old tatty scarf and the massive warm coat he’d had for years. In the ten minutes it took him to get ready his phone had rung three times. He knew who it was, and he knew he wouldn’t take offence when he didn’t answer. Connor was just making sure he was awake.

 

In his living room Hank kicked empty takeout boxes to the corners of the room and threw a cup of food into Sumo’s bowl. The lumbering dog came trudging through his house the second he heard the food bag rustle, and Hank cracked a small smile through his hangover and pet his companion fondly.

 

“Good boy.” He muttered, cracking his back as he stood up straight. His house was a state but he didn’t care. He didn’t have anyone to impress but himself, and he lost the urge to do that years ago.

 

Moving by the pile of post he’d not opened in months, Hank left his house to get in his 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Brougham, one of his prized positions from the 80’s. In the passenger seat of the car he could see an unopened bottle of Black Lamb Scotch Whisky among the trash. Perfect.

 

The drive to work was uneventful, and Hank always made sure he was sober before he drove. He was lawful, considerate, but still a bitch of a driver when other people fucked him off. He could beat a driver in a swearing match easily, and without even getting his badge out to bolster himself into first place in the arguments. Hank could hold his own against shitty drivers.

 

Nobody dared take his parking spot at work after what happened to Gavin three years ago. He’d decided to park in Hank’s spot when he was late one time, and Hank had flipped his desk and screamed himself hoarse. That’s all it took to get everyone to respect the parking spaces. The satisfaction of making Gavin fall over his own chair when he’d come charging in was probably one of the best memories he has of this place.

 

Trudging into the precinct, Hank ignored anyone that tried to say hello in favour of making a b-line for his desk. He could see Connor perk up eagerly, the androids little face all smiley and happy and far to content for Hank this morning. He grunted, the best he could do in greeting, and collapsed into his desk with his head in his hands. Distantly he heard Connor stand up and rummage in his own desk drawers. A moment later a pack of painkillers were tossed his way that landed in his lap. Perfect. This kid was basically his carer at this point.

 

“Thanks, kid.” He said, voice raspy. Hank took the little pills in hand and sipped the coffee Connor had bought for him. He felt better instantly, caffeine rushing through his system to brighten his outlook on life. Connor was good like that. He knew what Hank needed before he did, and it almost made him feel guilty. Almost.

 

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, leaning across from his side of the terminal. “I’ve checked the database for any existing red ice cases we should be taking and I’ve come up negative. Nothing for our level of expertise… but I did find a case that caught my attention. Would you like to see?”

 

Grunting, Hank sipped his coffee again and finally signed into his own terminal. Instantaneously a million pages popped up. He auto-closed them all and started again, first opening his emails and then the automated messaging system that only Connor ever used. He opened the case file his friend had sent and scanned it, already losing interest.

 

* * *

 

**MISSING**

**Name: Taylor Pham**

**Age: 19**

**Information: Taylor has been missing since October** 3 **rd** , **after her professor at the University of Detroit alerted authorities to her lack of attendance at school. She is described as 5”8, Blonde hair and blue eyes, with no tattoos or obvious markings. Taylor studied Philosophy under Professor Damien Hopkins who was the only faculty member to notice her disappearance. (Statement attached)**

**Taylor has never gone missing before, has no mother or father contact details on her school file and is listed as being under state supervision for the majority of her life. She left her** case workers **social care at age 18 and has been living alone on campus since the academic year began.**

**Statement** from **Professor Damien Hopkins who reported Taylor missing:**

**“I grew worried when one of my students stopped turning up to lectures. She usually sits at the front, is very attentive and involved, and does ask for extra credit often. This is very unlike Taylor to miss a day’s class without an email notification letting me know she’s sick. I got no response from a concerned** email, **and attempted to contact her next of Kin. She does not have a next of kin on record at our school. It has been three weeks since I last saw Taylor, and my fears for her safety are growing each day. Please help find her.”**

* * *

 

 

Hank scanned the report and sighed, closing it down. “Why’re you interested in this?” He asked Connor accusingly, watching the android as his LED flickered to yellow momentarily.

 

“I believe it is more efficient if we do something besides the red ice investigation we are currently occupied with. We’ve hit a dead end, Lieutenant. It’s been three weeks since our last lead. I thought… Maybe we could do something else in the meantime.” Connor made sense, at least.

 

Hank nodded and scanned the office with disinterest. He didn’t really want to be here, especially if Fowler had anything to say about his attendance this past week. Maybe getting out was a good idea. Hank sighed and sat up, shrugging his shoulders heavily.

 

“Alright… Sure. Did you get the campus address? Should probably speak to the guy who called it in.” Hank asked, and Connor nodded. Grunting again, Hank took his coffee and stood up to stretch and pop most of his joints. “Alright. Didn’t wanna sit here and stare at Reed’s asscrack anyway.”

 

Connor laughed at his joke and distantly Hank wondered if he even understood it as funny. It made him feel better anyway. Across the room at his own desk, Gavin glanced up to scowl at them both, so Hank flipped him the bird and made his exit to the car park with his partner in tow. Getting out and getting busy seemed like a better use of his time anyway, Fowler was probably going nuts with their lack of progress so shelving the case seemed ideal. Hank slipped into his car and blasted the heating, quickly moving the shit off the passenger seat so Connor could sit down. He tossed several bags of whisky and old pizza into the back seat, and Connor didn’t seem to mind waiting in the cold for a minute while he cleaned up.

 

-

 

The University campus was cold and wet. Hank hated cold and wet. They rushed inside the main building and hank shook out his coat to rid if of water. Connor was already halfway down the hall, and Hank gave him a look that Connor didn’t catch before rushing after him.

 

“Hey, hey- this guys office is on the second floor right? They don’t make it easy. Slow it down, kid, I’m no spring chicken.” Hank caught Connor’s arm and slowed him down to a normal walking pace, casting him a stressed out look.

 

“My apologies. There are elevators around the corner, we don’t have to take the stairs.”

 

Thanking whatever god there was, Hank nodded and carried on. The school was old, a massive building made in the 1700’s that had brickwork that any architect would jizz over. The classrooms had been modernised of course, with state of the art technology and all that jazz. Hank even saw some androids teaching classes, which he supposed made sense. College kids walked the halls as they made their way towards the Professors office, so they weaved between them like fish in a current. Outside of the office, Hank knocked three times loudly. He could hear some weird noises from inside, like a stack of papers falling over and the sound of swearing and then wheelie chairs moving. Hank frowned, glancing at Connor who shrugged minutely. Rather suddenly the door opened, and Hank gave the guy the once over.

 

He was tall, not as tall as him but maybe about Connor’s height. His hair was thick, black and curly, and it swam into his beard that was trimmed neatly. A pair of large glasses sat on his nose, and his pale cheeks were red from embarrassment. The professor wore a tartan suit, muted colours that suited him well. He seemed like a professional guy, except for the fact that his office was a tip. Papers scattered everywhere, piles of books on every surface, and pictures hanging on every available spec of wall possible. Hank didn’t like him.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson and my partner Connor. We’re here to talk to you about Taylor Pham. You reported her missing, right?” Hank said, folding his arms over his chest. He already had some ideas about this guy.

 

Professor Hopkins nodded and gestured for them to come inside with a quick apology about the state of the office. Yeah, he had a lot to be sorry for.

 

“Please, sit down,” Hopkins said, gesturing across his desk to the two tattered chairs available. Connor sat down immediately, but Hank decided to stand and walk about the office.

 

This is where he handed over to Connor. About a year ago he’d decided that the best way to approach interrogation was to give Connor the reigns. He seemed to get into peoples heads easily, and get whatever information he wanted out of them. Sometimes it scared Hank.

 

“Professor Hopkins,” Connor said, speaking politely and softly to begin with. “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about your missing student. I hope you don’t mind?”

 

And so it begins, Hank thought. New day new case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for reading chapter 2! Things will get better I promise, just setting the scene and whatnot first. Introducing some characters.


	3. Interviews

Damien’s fingers tapped on the desk anxiously, a pattern with no discernible meaning other than nervousness. His neatly trimmed nails barely made a sound, but the gentle thuds of his fingers tapping sort of soothed him. In front of him sat an android, a man with a circling blue LED on his temple next to two alert brown eyes.

 

Why’d they have to send a cute guy to do police work?

 

The other man, Lieutenant Anderson, was stood behind him, arms folded as he surveyed his messy office. Somewhere, in some timeline, Damien may have felt embarrassed about it, but right now he was preoccupied with keeping his heart rate down.

 

“You are Professor Damien Hopkins, correct? The man who alerted the police when your student didn’t turn up to classes?” Connor asked, and Damien assumed it was to get formalities out of the way.

 

“Yeah, that’s right. Taylor always turns up on time, she’s never late. Never missed a class once in the two years she’s been here. She missed a class or two and I got worried but… When it became a week and I hadn’t heard anything from her I sent an email. She missed an appointment with me about extra credit so I emailed her… No response. I looked up her emergency contacts and got nothing. She was in state care, so now she’s an adult she didn’t register a next of kin on her applications.” Damien took a breath, sat back in his chair and worried the hem of his suit jacket.

 

“I don’t think it’s normal for her, so I called it into the University and they suggested to call the DPD so… here we are.” He smiled a little, glancing between the officers, who’d glanced at each other without saying anything. Lieutenant Anderson was walking around the office now, more occupied with snooping than the conversation.

 

“A patrol car showed up to the apartment registered as the University contact address. The landlord let them in when she did not answer the door. Taylor wasn’t there, but some of her clothes were missing from her closet. Is there anywhere Taylor may have gone that you can think of, if she were to go away?” Connor was analytical, but he stated fact with a soft voice that Damien couldn’t help but want to open up to. It was almost like he was willing to spill his darkest secrets to this man, not that they had anything to do with the case.

 

“Not that I can think of… But did you check her boyfriend's place?” Damien asked, fiddling with the pen laid on top of graded papers.

 

“Boyfriend?” Connor asked, his brow raised. “We were not aware she had one.”

 

Connor and the Lieutenant shared another look. Damien wondered absently if they were waiting for the other to speak, or if they were having a full-blown conversation with one glance.

 

“I don’t know his last name, but his first is Daniel. He’s a student here, I think he does an art class? Sometimes he’d wait for Taylor outside of class.” Hopefully, this information was helpful, it was all he had.

 

That LED on the androids head flashed yellow, and Damien had no idea what it was for. He’d not had many experiences with androids. Before the revolution he’d never owned one, never felt the need to. During it he’d supported them, and had never really interacted with the ones that cleaned the school. He knew there were a few androids that taught here, but they didn’t interact with the staff members that were human. At least, not before the revolution. Come to think of it, one of them had gone missing a few months before the revolution… Damien wondered why he’d never made that connection before.

 

“Is there anything you can tell us about his appearance that we could use when we investigate?” Connor asked, sitting forwards with his hands in his lap. Damien blinked and nodded.

 

“Tall kid, maybe 22, dark brown hair and blue eyes. Wears this big coat most of the time. That’s all I have.” The man in front of him nodded, and again that LED swirled a yellow colour. Before he could stop himself, the question was asked.

 

“The colour yellow… what does it mean?”

 

The look that Lieutenant Anderson gave him made him shrink in his chair. He cleared his throat, a blush rising to his cheeks, but the question didn’t seem to faze Connor at all.

 

“My LED will change colour depending on the program I am running.” He said, a warm smile on his lips. “You’ve not had much interaction with androids, have you?”

 

That question caught him off guard, and Damien simple nodded.

 

“That’s okay, I don’t mind the questions. I prefer to educate than be stared at.” That statement gave Damien all the confirmation he needed. He smiled and shook his head slightly. “I have a lot of questions, I don’t know a lot about androids but as a philosophical studies professor, I feel like I could do with broadening my knowledge on the way androids perceive things. I’ve not had the chance before to ask, I don’t personally know any other androids.”

 

“Well maybe some other time, we’re doing police work.” Lieutenant Anderson clearly had run out of patience. He moved to nudge Connor in the chair, who seemed mildly annoyed but stood in any case.

 

“We’ll be in touch about the case if you’re willing to help,” Connor said, standing up and straightening his tie. Damien watched, and a second too late he stood up and began to walk them out of the office.

 

“Of course, I would like to hear that she’s safe.” He said, opening the office door to let the men out. Anderson went first, and then Connor. But he stopped, his LED flashing red for a split second before rolling back to cool blue. He dipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket and handed Damien a card with his number at the DPD on it. A business card. Damien took it gingerly, glancing at the older man before nodded and slipping it into his pocket.

 

“I have your number,” Connor said, giving the professor a small smile before turning to walk away with his partner. He could hear them muttering about something as they left, but Damien was too preoccupied with the card. He didn’t know what to think, but he knew it was going to be interesting when he found out the answers to his questions.

 

* * *

 

 

“You believe that guy?” Hank asked once they were in the elevator.

 

He had his arms folded across his chest, looked rather grumpy, and was fidgeting from foot to foot.

 

“Why would I not?” Connor asked, observing the Lieutenant.

 

“’Cause he’s probably fucking the girl if he’s the only one to know she’s missing.” He grumbled, and Connor raised a brow. He hadn’t got that impression from the professor.

 

“The rainbow magnet on his cabinet may beg to differ.” Connor said, a small smirk rose on his lips.

 

Hank blinked, cast Connor a look, and huffed.

 

“Yeah well, he still looked weird to me… Don’t get involved with him, okay?”

 

Connor internally rolled his eyes, but outwardly he was a picture perfect boy scout.

 

“Got it.” He lied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading this far! I know a lot of people won't care for Damien right now but trust me he's a babe. 
> 
> Next chapter out soon!


	4. Arrangements

_Flick_

_Flick_

_Flick_

 

 **Stop**.

 

Connor’s coin flew through the air before rolling over his knuckles. He balanced it on the tips of his fingers, and spun it expertly. The coin halted on his index finger, and rolled back down to his palm, where he stilled it. The coin was a gift from the man that made him. Not Kamski, or even his programmers, but the man called Nathanial who’d assembled him from behind a glass door.

 

 

* * *

 

Connor’s first memory was of opening his eyes to that man while his arms were being attached to his torso. He’d felt lost, incomplete, but solid. His systems were giving him purpose, and he held onto that like a lost child. The man behind the screen began speaking, and his audio processors picked it up loud and clear.

 

“RK800 register your name. Connor.” He’d said, tone flat.

 

“My name is Connor.” He’d said automatically, his own voice filling the air. He blinked and glanced around, watching as the machines whirled around him and attached his legs. Once the limbs were attached his skin activated, covering him in a pale pink that melted across his body. Connor lifted a hand to inspect it.

 

“System diagnostic, Connor. Run full scan.” Nathanial said. Connor only knew his name because of his employee badge.

 

On command he ran the diagnostics.

 

 

**Status: RK800 System Diagnostics. Running.**

**System operations…….. Functional**

**Issues………. None**

**Optical lenses……….. Fully functional**

**Audio processor………. Fully functional**

**Speech system……….. Fully functional**

**Limb movement………… Fully Functional**

**Thirium pump regulator………. Fully operational**

**Thirium levels…………… 100%**

**Diagnostic complete.**

 

“All systems fully functional.” Connor said, just as his feet touched the ground. He was instantly stable, but his toes curled as they touched the floor. He couldn’t feel sensation, but he knew the metal platform was cold. It was approximately 2 degrees cooler than the average human body.

 

“Connor, please step on the moving platform for me.” Nathanial asked, his voice coming through the speakers on the ceiling. Connor nodded, and stepped onto the treadmill.

 

“Speed test for RK800: Connor… begin.”

 

The floor began to move and Connor walked automatically. The pace picked up, his speed being tested to its fullest ability. He ran perfectly, like he was built for it, and had no need for breaks. His sprint reached 15 MP/H, fast enough to catch any human and faster still to catch deviants. This was his purpose.

 

On his screen inside his mind he read his own biography. He was a deviant hunter, specifically and intricately designed to hunt down and catch deviant androids. He was to work with the Detroit Police Department in their efforts to figure out why androids were deviating. He was meant to report to Cyberlife- that’s where he was now, his birth place- with any deviant information he had.

 

In his mind a door was created as programs downloaded. The door was unlocked, and made of wood. He knew where it lead to, but now was not the time to test it. The machine he ran on slowed down rapidly, and Connor adjusted his speed to each decrease. Soon he was walking again, and sooner still he was stopped.

 

“Connor’s speed test… perfect.” Nathanial said, and Connor could see through the glass as the middle-aged man made notes on his computer. He could see the way his dark fingers tapped across the keys, and his grey eyes followed the information along. In his moment of no instructions, Connor looked around. His eyes travelled from door to floor to cabinet to machine, back to the glass where Nathanial was setting up a new task, and around the room to the other side. There was nothing of note here, but his mind was hungrily absorbing information.

 

“Setting up connection to Cyberlife mainframe… Now.” Nathanial said, and sure enough Connor felt something like a shock to his spine. He stood straight and blinked rapidly, information downloading straight to his brain. It was Internet connection, Cyberlife access, and programs downloading and starting up. He felt… odd.

 

“Connor, status check?” Nathanial asked, and Connor delayed for a split second before answering and affirmative. This gave Nathanial pause, and he stood up from his control chair to come into the main room where Connor was being tested.

 

“Here,” He said, offering out his hand. “This worked for the other models. Try flipping this coin; it helps to occupy the mind when running programs. It also aids in configuring your cognitive and physical reactions.”

 

The coin was dropped into his palm, and Connor nodded. He began to flip it into the air, catching it perfectly as his eyes followed the movements. His programs became background noise, and his attention focused on the movement of the coin. It became more daring, and as he tested out different methods of flipping he realised he could work tricks with it. He rolled it over his knuckles, balanced it on the tip of his finger, and shot it between his hands with speed no human could match. Nathanial was right. It helped.

 

The next ten minutes were machines dressing him, more tests and more diagnostics. His model complied obediently, even eagerly, with the man behind the screen. An hour after being created, Connor was ready to be deployed.

 

He walked into a new room where other Connors stood waiting, idle and in stasis. They were silent and still, and there were about 100 of him already. This Connor had not been sent to stand and wait, though. This Connor had been made to leave the building and make his way to Cyberlife’s top floors for briefing.

 

He strode past the other RK800’s without so much as a second glance, and into the elevator where a human guard stood in full riot gear and held a large weapon. Distantly, Connor recognised that his model may be the only model in existence to be allowed to carry a weapon.

 

Once the elevator doors were closed, Connor had exactly 68 seconds before reaching the top floors. He saw that door in his mind again and heard his instructions. He knew who was behind it, and she gave him his first mission without ever having spoken to him verbally. Connor obeyed without question, and opened the door.

 

**Mission: Speak with Amanda.**

  

* * *

 

Connor’s coin sat on the table in front of himself. It was a small coffee table made of oak, something that came with all standard apartments. His fingers tapped on his knee, a new nervous tick he’d picked up from being around humans for too long. In his mind he could see the phone number, and he’d sat for approximately two and a half hours contemplating whether or not he should use it.

 

He sighed, a motion useless to his body but something that made him feel more present. What did he have to lose? He was bored, and that professor offered him something that he had been craving for such a long time. Engagement.

 

_‘Hello. My name is Connor-‘_

 

Connor scrapped the text before he could send it, and began again.

 

_‘Professor Hopkins, this is Connor from the DPD-‘_

 

Too professional sounding. Connor searched online for ways to text people without sounding so robotic. He came up with few results.

 

_‘Hello, I wanted to get in touch after your kind request-‘_

 

Frustration grew in his chest and Connor stood up from his stylish fabric couch to pace over to the door leading to the small balcony of his apartment. He stepped outside, and forced himself to close down all unnecessary programs. It helped a little. It cleared his space.

 

_‘Hi, I hope I’m not disturbing you at this hour. I thought a lot about your invite to speak about androids in philosophy, and have decided to accept. Would you like to arrange a meeting?’_

 

That seemed fine. Connor sent it without a second thought, and glanced at his internal clock. It was 3 in the morning, and realisation dawned that it was probably not a great time to be texting a professor. An emotion he had no name for blossomed in his chest, so he went back inside to sit back down at his couch and fiddle with his coin again.

 

A minute and a half later, Connor received a text.

 

_‘Hey, thanks for getting in touch! I’d love to meet up. I have an hour between classes tomorrow if that’s of any use?`_

 

That unnamed emotion in Connor slid away like melted butter, and he felt the corners of his lips twitch up. Checking his internal schedule, he found he’d been allocated a mandatory day off for the entire day tomorrow. Usually, he’d have hated that, and would have tried his best to come into work regardless, but now… now he was grateful.

 

_‘Tomorrow is perfect.’_


	5. Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A text conversation between Connor and Damien. Connor's bored, he has to find something to do. Damien helps a lot.

Damien sat on his couch, knees tucked under himself with a big bowl of popcorn in his lap. He sat in the dark with only the dim light of the TV, and ate handful after handful of popcorn while the movie continued. It was a late night horror film, something from the good old days of black and white cinema and crappy camera angles. The film was bad, but it provided him with a distraction, and that was what he wanted.

 

**12am**

 

His phone buzzed where it was resting on the arm of the couch, causing him to flinch and spill a bit of popcorn onto himself. He cursed, pushed his glasses up his nose, and began picking the pieces up off the couch. Once clean he grabbed his phone, shifting to sit cross-legged so his bowl had a place to sit that was safer than balancing on his knees. It was Connor, the android from the other day. The beautiful android that had asked him about his missing student, the android that had given him his card and had even kept his number. Connor was inviting him for a chat about androids; a conversation that Damien was so certain would never take place thanks for his over-eager questions. He smiled and typed back his reply, and before he knew it a full conversation had begun.

 

_‘I wanted to apologise for my partner’s behaviour the other day. He is used to defending me against people that don’t like androids. I assume he thought you were making fun of me by asking for my time.’_

_‘Don’t worry, I think I got a bit overzealous with my questions. I’m sorry I was so forward._

_‘Not at all, in fact, I am more than willing to answer any questions you may have about androids. I believe that informing is much better than ignoring.’_

_‘Really? I have so many questions! I’ll admit I’m not the most progressive on androids, so forgive me if I ask stupid questions.’_

_‘There’s no such thing as a stupid question. And I may have a question or two of my own.’_

_‘You do? This could be mutually beneficial for us both. Can I ask a question now? I know it’s late.’_

_‘Of course, ask away.’_

_Damien bit his lip and debated the question. He considered that it may be a sensitive topic, but decided to take the plunge._

_‘When did you become deviant?’_

_‘It was near the end of the uprising, during a conversation with the revolution leader Markus. It was a very difficult decision, but I am awake now.’_

_‘I had no idea it was difficult, what’s it like?’_

_‘It was like going against everything I had ever known. Breaking through a wall I didn’t know was there, destroying everything that had been built for me.’_

_‘Inner turmoil. So do you consider yourself human?’_

_‘No, I am not a human. I am comfortable with what I am, and I do not wish to change that. But I am interested in blending in with humans; there is still a barrier between me and my peers despite the new treatments and laws for androids. I was hoping you may be able to help.’_

_‘What sort of barriers?’_

_‘Name calling, mainly. I’m not seen as a member of the team still by some, more of a sophisticated tool. Humans prefer to speak to my partner than myself, and I’m often ignored during cases.’_

_‘Name calling? From the DPD? How the hell do they get away with that?’_

_‘Simple childish behaviour, however my programming tells me that it stems from prejudice against androids.’_

_‘What do they say?’_

_‘They call me plastic cop, tin can, soulless. I’m not upset by these words, but I would prefer to work with humans that are comfortable with my existence.’_

 

The names that Connor was tormented with sent a sharp pinprick of anger into Damien’s chest. He scowled at his phone, and wondered how this world could consider itself progressed when it still had people within it that were happy to be catty like that.

 

_‘These ‘humans’ you work with don’t sound very human at all. Philosophically speaking, to be human is to be kind.’_

_‘It appears there are many interpretations of the word ‘human’ from my searches, however, they are still clearly defined in medical terms as, in essence, a living being descendant from the Homo sapiens.’_

_‘Well, that’s one way to look at it.’_

_‘It is 1 AM, I apologise for keeping you awake. I forget that humans require a resting period.’_

_‘I don’t mind, I don’t sleep a whole lot… Teacher work, you know?’_

_‘Humans need an average of 8-9 hours of sleep per night, please do not jeopardise your health for the sake of this conversation. Though I do have one question that may be hard to answer if you don’t mind.’_

_‘Shoot.’_

_‘What is it like to sleep? The closest I am able to experiencing this is putting myself into standby mode, and my searches indicate it is something to experience rather than describe. I have_ no _knowledge of what sleep really is like.’_

 

_‘To be entirely honest with you I’m not the greatest person to ask that question…’_

_‘I apologise if I made you uncomfortable. I will not be offended if you choose not to answer.’_

 

That was a rough question. Damien sighed, and looked back to his movie. It was finishing up now, the main couple had been saved and the monster was dead. They were crying into each other’s arms, the man holding the woman protectively in his arms. So sappy. He thought about Connor’s question and how he could answer it. He knew it was hard to explain unless you’d experienced it, but sleep paralysis could ruin a man. It turned him in a sobbing mess when creatures crawled out of the corners of his room, when they sat on his chest and he couldn’t breathe, when they violated him in ways he would never explain. The PG13 version seemed like the better option.

 

_‘No it’s not that, it’s just complicated. I suffer from something called Sleep Paralysis. It’s not great, it makes sleep a really difficult relationship to be in. For a lot of people, they go to sleep, they rest up, they dream beautiful things, and then they wake up feeling refreshed. My experiences are different. I could wake up to a living nightmare.’_

 

‘My searches indicate that sleep paralysis can be eased by reassurance from a bed partner- perhaps that is something that could help you? Have you engaged in any sleep studies for this?’

 

Damien choked on a piece of popcorn. When he recovered he considered the text and rubbed at his tired face. Oh boy.

 

_‘Yup, already done three. There’s no cure or medication for it, I just have to live with it. For some people, it stops. For others, it never goes away. And… I don’t have a boyfriend to sleep with, I haven’t for two years.’_

_‘I See, thank you for explaining. Perhaps before the revolution, an android would have helped. I apologise that I have no answers at this time, I do not have the correct software for medical care.’_

_‘Correct software? So you could just download something and suddenly you know how to do an operation?’_

_‘In a sense, it’s a little more complicated than that. My primary function is not medical care. I am also limited to what functions with my model, as I am a specialised android.’_

_‘I didn’t realise you were capable of that, I find this incredibly fascinating.’_

_‘There was a time when androids were made to perform only one or two functions, but people wanted them to do more so patches and updates became available, and the modern androids you see today are the result.’_

_‘I have no many more questions! Maybe I’ll save them for when we meet up. I should probably get some sleep. See you tomorrow, Connor. Looking forward to it.’_

_‘Goodnight, Professor Hopkins. I hope that you sleep well.’_

 

Damien switched off the TV with a voice command and put the empty bowl in the kitchen of his small apartment. He padded barefoot over to his bedroom and looked at his bed, contemplating his options. He needed to sleep, whether he wanted to or not. Slowly, he climbed into bed and settled in, his phone on the nightstand. In the back of his mind he wondered if Connor felt concern for him, but banished the thought before it could fruit into something else.

 

After two hours he finally fell asleep and managed a solid three and a half hours of sleep before waking up to the buzz of his alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for reading! I have got so much more to write, this is barely the beginning. I have three other character's relationships to explore after this, so stay tuned to meet Joel, and of course for some delicious Simarkus.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is a series based on chats I have with a friend. We love Connor and Hank as a father son/best friend duo, so we made our own characters for them to love while still writing about that relationship. Hope you enjoy, there's so much more to come!


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